“Hey, Pops. Spent the day fooling around with Captain on Husky Hill, played hide n’ seek with my dear ol’ bunny and stole some daisies. Couldn’t resist the turkey bacon aroma and bolted for Pup-Tizers. Good day overall, but missed your chin-scratches. -Max 🐾”

Listen to the story here

It was near the twilight of an unreasonably warm day in Spencerville when I found myself perched on the sidewalk of Husky Hill, my elbows resting on my knees in a reflective stoop. Max, the obstinate yet endearing Lhasa Apso, was energetically rummaging through the daisies on White Westie Woods. His glossy fur, pearlescent under the slowly fading sun, belying his habitual stubbornness-certainly a sight that could inflate the deflated spirit of the most downtrodden.

A sudden thought possessed me; I reached for Max’s treasured toy, that worn-out plush bunny that had borne silent witness to countless playtimes. Swinging my arm with all the youthful vigor I could muster, the bunny arched high into the air, momentarily blinding my eyes in the color of the setting sun as my gaze followed its trajectory.

“Heads up, Captain!” My shout echoed through the silence, signaling the German Shepard, Max’s partner in crime. Captain charged, an angular dance of raw energy and primal instinct, snapping up the plush bunny.

“Good lad!” I cheered. Captain wagged his tail, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. Meanwhile, a grumbling Max returned, his protest muffled by a mouthful of daisy stems he’d purloined in his dissatisfaction.

Suddenly, the aroma of the Waggle n’ Wok wafted through the air. Our heads turned almost synchronously. Max, a known concessionary to turkey bacon, quickly abandoned the daisies. On any other day, I would have given in to the temptation, but not today.

Max left in a hurried pace towards the source of the scent, dragging Captain along by the nape of his collar. The two disappeared down the lane heading straight for Pup-Tizers.

Sheriff, the mailman, nonchalantly rode past me on his rusty bicycle, a chill of dread scratching up his spine as he glanced at the now empty Hill. “Not a soul in sight. All’s quiet on the western front.” I mused, the silence emboldened my thoughts and stretched them into the shape of the picaresque town.

The sun was minutes away from retiring, and suddenly, I felt an itch to visit the park, in the charming company of the evening air and candid conversations with the flowers. Max, obstinate but undeniably endearing, would have his way at Pup-Tizers, promise of a turkey bacon reward silencing any protest he might have against my sudden disappearance.

Spencerville, the little town where pets ran the show, was unfurling its enigma at the close of another day, with a trail of mail, the scent of Waggles n’ Wok, an abandoned plush bunny, and a departing Max, and somewhere in the midst- the story of the steadfast camaraderie between a Lhasa Apso and a German Shepard. Riveting, strange, fond- a drama unfolding in its own time, at its own pace, stitching memories into the fabric of its existence, almost human in its resonance.

The End.